Century
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Century: a group of one hundred things. One hundred shorts of DG.
1. New

This story is for the **DG Forum's 100 Days, 100 Drabbles Challenge**. Expect a chapter a day, no more than 400 words long, all D/G. This should be a lot of fun.

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1. New **[399]

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Draco's life had always been filled with empty space. The Malfoy manor was gigantic; the ceilings were arched and impossibly high with dark-as-night corners, the floors highly polished and extending onward for what seemed like ever. The garden was roughly the size of a Quidditch field, and as a child Draco remembered most sitting by himself in a chair large enough for four of him, legs dangling, staring across years of lacquered wood at his parents on the other side of the dining table. He never swung his feet, just stretched them down stiffly until the day they finally touched marble floor.

The chair was still large enough for two of him, even now, and the shadows in the corners of the ceilings were still distant and dark. Nothing had changed since he was a child, it often seemed; he filled no more space and was still a small figure, a bit part in the Malfoy Legacy, acting out his assigned role. He walked in wide-open spaces, but trod a narrow and rigid path.

So it had always been, so Draco had imagined it always would be – trapped inside a never-ending box. And then from nowhere, Ginny Weasley had arrived and begun erecting shoddy walls of her own, tearing the old invisible ones down. Draco found himself standing frozen in a room smaller than his closet, filled with more clutter than had ever been in his bedroom. The ambient heat was upped by so much body temperature, to a comfortable, slightly musty, warmth; a sharp contrast to the cool marble he knew.

He couldn't move, couldn't force himself to take even a single step for fear that he would knock something over and it would all crash down; Draco was used to having meters of space around him at every moment and here there were only inches, if that. Red hair everywhere, people brushing past him, all talking, gesticulating, shouting, laughing, setting the table in a mad bustle that to Draco's eyes looked like just so many pinballs bouncing off each other. He feared for a crash, and claustrophobia pressed down with the knowledge that he could simply reach up and touch the ceiling.

Ginny walked over, grabbed his hand, and tugged him further into the mess, enough so Draco knew he would never escape. And in that tiny space, he moved freely for the first time.


	2. Broken

**2. Broken **[400]

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"Ginny, _please_," he said, and her hands trembled slightly as she flicked her wand once more and repeated the spell.

A soothing red glow filled the air and a wet gasping finally tore itself from Ginny's throat. She flicked again, repeated.

"Stop," Draco told her, and reached out a hand to her shoulder. "Ginny, there's always other –"

In an instant, Ginny had whirled about and slapped her husband with all her strength. "No," she snapped, "I told you _no!_ I'm just not – I'm just not saying it right, if you'd leave me alone I could get it right! Leave me alone!"

She shoved him back, and abruptly Draco stopped fighting, let her, forcing down the hurt written on his face. "Fine," he said slowly in a grave, queer tone. "I'll give you five minutes. And if that light doesn't turn green, Ginny…"

He hesitated for a moment, turning his head slightly to look out from the bathroom to the cheerful yellow room beyond, mobile spinning slightly in the breeze. His jaw clenched, and Draco's voice was firm when he turned back and met brown eyes. "If that light isn't green, Ginny, then we are never trying to get you pregnant again. Your body just can't handle it, and – "

"It _can_," Ginny half-sobbed, angry and frustrated at her own tears, unable to stop their flowing, "_I_ can, I will, just –wait, I'm saying it wrong, this time – I just _know _it, Draco, I do!"

He continued on smoothly as if she hadn't said a word. "And I don't think I can watch you destroy yourself any longer."

His voice had been quiet; in the aftermath of his statement, Ginny fell silent too, all coming sobs caught in her throat. She just stared, wide-eyed, and Draco's eyes met hers, silver-grey and solemn, completely and utterly serious.

He turned, and left the room, and for three long seconds, Ginny remained frozen. Then a sob burst free, broke past the lump in her throat, and tears slid down her cheeks once more. It hurt so much, she thought; how could this hurt ever be fixed but to try without giving up?

_Destroy yourself_.

Ginny blinked tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath that was only slightly shaky. Lifting her wand once more, she spoke carefully, enunciating properly and emphasizing exactly right.

If she had to, she would.


	3. Hope

**3. Hope **[397]

* * *

Ginny lounged. She was tired, not in a bad way, just lazy and inclined to flop on the edge of the lake and while away the hours. It was so _warm_, that was probably why. She didn't much care if nothing happened at all, so long as she could close her eyes and let the rare sunshine ease her into sleep.

It wasn't warm here often; after all, they lived in a castle on a mountain. While undoubtedly better than Durmstrang weather, during the school year fog was frequent, and so the heat wave carried plenty of power and Ginny drifted off easily.

The sun still shone into her eyes as Ginny woke, but someone stood over her, casting shadow across her upper body and part of her mouth - the source of the coolness that had roused her. The sun had shifted in the sky, and Ginny yawned and languidly lifted an arm to shade her eyes.

It was likely just the warmth of the sun still infused deep into her bones, making life comfortable and simple and pleasantly sleepy, but when the person standing over her was revealed to be Draco Malfoy, dressed badly for the weather in a thick robe, Ginny did nothing more than squint and let her eyes half-close again. "Nice day," she mumbled, shifting her shoulders a little in the grass.

Draco didn't answer for a long moment, staring down at her with an expression she couldn't quite fathom through her eyelashes. Then, slowly, one side of his lip lifted a little, and he turned his head away to look at the lake. "Yeah," he said, so quiet Ginny almost didn't hear, and settled down on the grass next to her.

She did almost wonder what was going on, but it took a bit too much effort and so instead she yawned again, rolled her head some more until it was comfortable, and flexed her bare toes back into the grass. Her eyes closed fully and didn't open again; Ginny fell asleep with her head resting against Draco's warm leg as he continued to watch the lake glitter.

When she woke again, night was descending, and the air was cooling. In fact, the shadows covering her completely would probably have set her shivering long ago, if it weren't for the thick robe that had been carefully laid over her form.


	4. Quills

**4. Quills **[399]

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_Tears hover in Ginivera Weasley's eyes,_ the Quick Quotes Quill scribbled furiously, _as she admits her true star-crossed love._

_"Once, I thought I loved Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. But he never saw who I was – and then **he**__ appeared, my knight in shining armour. He saved my life and, impassioned by his protective love, whisked me away to his summer home in Italy. We spent several months in a whirlwind romance there, and it was all I could have dreamed and more," Ginny narrates bashfully, a blush rising on her alabaster cheeks. As she speaks of the object of her deep affections, tears shimmer at the corners of her eyes, which are nevertheless sparkling with adoration and love._

_"But what about your family?" I, ever the informed and considerate reporter, inquire genrtly, and Ginny looks sadly down at the ground._

_"They hate the Malfoys, there's no denying that," she sighs. "But – but I just can't let them separate me from my dearest Draco! Especially since…" The innocent young romantic blushes brightly as she sets a trembling hand on her stomach. "Well, I just can't. That's why, though I hate to do it, I will have to say goodbye to my family. I would pick Draco over them any day, and besides," adds the clever witch, a conspiratorial glint in her eye, "Draco is much better off, which I've gotten quite used to, you know."_

Ginny's pale face held two bright spots on her cheekbones, as she gripped her stomach tightly. She was shuddering, completely unaware of what was being written in front of her. "Oh Merlin," she groaned, "what was in that shrimp? I feel like I'm about to hurl… Bugger, I've gotten too used to that jerk kidnapper's gourmet meals, I can't handle this, this –" Her face turned a pale shade of green and she abruptly bolted in the direction of the bathroom, tossing a "sorry, whoever you are!" over her shoulder.

_Despite her lighthearted jokes, guilt assails this lucky young girl who has nabbed the top Witch Weekly Bachelor (under-20 list) as the consequences of throwing everything away for love finally become clear to her._

_"I'm sorry," she says, holding back the sobs, "I can't handle this."_

_Will her hesitation threaten this, the romance of the decade? And what of Prince Charming's opinion? Turn to Page 34 for an exclusive interview with Draco Malfoy._


	5. Doorway

**5. Doorway** [345]

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Beyond the Veil, there was nothing, and he floated, somehow aware nonetheless.

He was no longer _Draco_ in the way he once had been; instead, he was vaguely aware that he was Draco. He was an outside perspective on his own life, a thought without a body or feeling, mixed in with many others, and he brushed against Sirius Black and saw pain and love and regret.

He looked at himself and saw the same things in abundance, and thought, 'Draco did not handle that well at all. He could have fixed everything if he had just admitted that he was in love,' and then he remembered that Draco was _him_, that _he_ was in love.

He looked out the archway, and saw her. Her hair was as red as the blood on her face and she was furious and fighting, and he slipped away, brushed against someone whose name he had never known, saw peace and happiness, and slipped away again.

Closer, closer he crowded, up to the archway, because he _saw_ her through it, and though he didn't quite feel anything, he knew that he ought to; so he crowded closer until they all brushed past him as they flickered in – anger, joy, sorrow, pain, anger, pain, hate, despair, all passing through him, but he didn't _feel _a single one – and he whispered to her.

He whispered her name, "Ginny, Ginny," and he kept whispering it over and over, among countless other names and countless other whispers. He had no body, no mouth, couldn't even remember quite why he cared about her, except he knew that he was Draco and Draco loved this girl even if he had never admitted it, so he whispered on.

He had no sense of time, either, and when she left he let himself fall away from the archway, ever further into nothing at all, brushing through other emotions and forgetting to care even as he was thinking, 'I did not handle that well.'

Thinking, 'Draco could have fixed everything, if only.'

Thinking, 'Who is Draco?'


	6. Breathless

**6. Breathless** [287]

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No air in her lungs, not a bit, she couldn't breathe – and didn't care at all, that was the worst of it. She couldn't breathe – was trying, just gasping, wheezing, her mouth moving soundlessly, nothing coming in or out – and she didn't even _care_, convulsions shaking her frame.

She rolled over, clawing at her stomach, which hurt so _badly_, it felt so empty and that was because she didn't have _any air at all_ and she couldn't do anything about it, muscles clenched and no longer obeying her commands. She couldn't even dwell on it, her mind gone, spinning in the silence, incoherent, senseless.

Ginny choked, rolled, tried to make a sound, any sound, but her whole head – no, her whole body – was shaking, juddering, unable to function and she thought briefly _damn him_ but the thought had no time to settle because suddenly, something worked, just in time.

Air, sweet air flooded her lungs as a single choked gasp worked right, and it was instantly put to use: Ginny kept on laughing uncontrollably, stomach still aching, body still convulsing, the only difference that now an insane, endless giggle managed to trip out between her lips. Eventually, the air now reaching her brain gave her enough control to start tamping it down, and she opened her weeping eyes.

Draco peered down at her, going from worried straight to frustrated to blushing and sniping that it was the first time he'd ever done something like this, and she interrupted his righteous indignation with a great snort and shudder, and off she went again.

Never again. Never again would they roleplay; if only because Ginny wasn't sure she'd survive a second laughing bout like this.


	7. Pain

**7. Pain** [340]

* * *

Draco has a steady sort of mind, and once he starts something he likes to finish it, so he tends to confront his fears head on.

_(His Boggart was his father for a time, and he spent days straight staring into its eyes until it eventually shifted shape for good.)_

It's part of the reason why his sixth year onward was so difficult for him, because that was about when he realized the level of his self-delusion (_epiphany under pressure_, he thought with a laugh, what timing) and there was nothing he could do about it but think on it and be afraid.

_(Sometimes he would see flickers out of the corners of his eyes, shadows that he knew were waiting on him, and he thought what an idiot he'd been, and beckoned the darkness closer.)_

When he starts something he likes to finish it, so Draco hates himself for hating what he's doing, but goes on as ever, and though wishing there were a way out, he digs himself deeper and deeper with complete knowledge.

Nothing stops him once he's set his course, and when he comes across a girl in the tunnels of his making he simply brushes her off and looks her up and down. In his new clarity of mind he _sees_, understands his heart and hers and he sees no contradiction in the way he levels his wand at her and hurtles green light out of it.

_(Aunt Bella likes to cackle that you have to enjoy causing pain and death, but that's not true. You just have to find it absolutely necessary.)_

Draco has a steady sort of mind, so he understands when he's just ripped his heart apart. But he does what is necessary to continue down the path he has chosen, and if that means making himself into something cruel and twisted and terrifying, so be it. He regrets nothing.

_(To his credit, he still faces his fears. Each night he lets loose the Boggart and watches himself kill her again.)_


	8. Test

**8. Test** [382]

* * *

There are certain tests on this earth, provided by life free of charge, and she knew this was one of them. Knew also that everything would depend on her answer, which all things considered should have been easy: it was a single-question test, after all, and multiple choice too. How simple can you get?

His hand stretched towards her, pale like white chrysanthemum, delicate and impassive. His eyes flinty and blank and unmoving, just waiting for her, and there _was_ a time limit before she'd have to put her quill down and face the consequences of a failing grade.

–But she was _drenched_, and it made it hard to think. She was shivering in her pale dress; flowers drooping in her hair, braid sticking down her spine. Fingers and toes numb, so she couldn't feel the jagged rocks she knew were denting her skin, and water clung to her eyelashes so he became starry and blurred and shining. She felt like she was swaying, drifting in his current, and he just waited so blankly.

There are times on this earth when life demands action and even we don't know our reasons. This was not one of those times.

Ginny knew exactly what she was doing as she reached out and slid her wet fingers into his dry ones, smearing his skin with a sheen of water that shone like glass. She knew what she was choosing, felt all the weight of her choice, dipping the quill in the ink and tattooing the choice _b)_ into her life forever until it rewrote all the outcomes.

He pulled her onto the thestral behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His eyes were blank as molten silver and his back was just as hot; wet spread from her clothes into his, soaking in little tendrils that grew steadily and melted them together. Ginny bent her head to rest on his shoulder, feeling the wet against his hot pale skin, and water hung from her eyelashes so the world coruscated bright and glorious.

The ride began heavy and bumpy, his body so hot yet he so cold, Ginny feeling so alone and ragged and shimmering in the night air, everything changing.

She wondered, vaguely, if this could be called a pass or a fail.


	9. Drink

**9. Drink** [400]

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Ginny drinks Draco's memories down from a tall steel cup.

They are milky-white and always moving, and she feels them sliding down her throat like silk would: smooth and suffocating. It's like a drug, powerful as she absorbs the memories and lets them become her own. She can feel herself becoming _Draco_, in part – after all, so much of a person is made from just memories.

She does wonder, of course, what the consequences of this will be. No one's ever done this, imbibed memories, poured a Pensieve down their throat using magic steel and a desperate need. It's changing her already, and she's got no idea what the long-term consequences will be. But if she's already gone this far there's no point in turning back, so Ginny tilts her head back and swallows, swallows, swallows.

The cup chinks lightly as she sets it down on the table with a shudder and a gasp. She can feel the memories moving within her, adjusting into her psyche, and it's not so much that she watches them, as one would normally do in a Pensieve, as they become a part of her memory like anything else.

An example: she thinks _father_ and two favorite memories come to mind. In one, she is laughing on his shoulders, Ron sitting on his foot as he stomps about the room amidst the happy noise of her older brothers.

In the other, everything is quiet, and he is solemnly examining a scrape on her knee. He pronounces it fine and picks her up to set her down on his armchair while he goes back to his work. "Just sit there and be quiet, Draco," Lucius says, and she does with pride because she's never been allowed to sit on this chair before for fear of her muddying the gorgon leather.

They are one and the same, and Ginny shivers as she lays her head on the table, rifling through her mind.

There is no evidence anymore; this is completely impossible to trace – which is good, as they will be here soon – and only her memories remain in the bowl. His are all locked away in her head now, and she experiences them in a way completely new that will change her forever.

Ginny vanishes the steel cup, swallows the silk locked in her throat, and waits for them. She can do nothing else.


	10. Anger

**10. Anger** [400]

* * *

Ginny paced frantically, spitting out words like an angry cat, shoulders hunched, flinching at every explosion from outside the door. Her eyes were sparking; she looked very inclined to set off some fireworks from inside Draco's (very advanced, thank Merlin) shield charm.

"You _idiot_," she hissed, calling to mind even more the image of an infuriated feline. Draco smirked and tried to quell the urge to scratch behind her ears. "What the _hell _did you do that for! You can't just _say_ – and then drag me off to a _bedroom of all places, Draco_ – they're going to kill you. _I_ might kill you."

Draco, lounging on the bed with his hands behind his head, merely shrugged. With a small smirk (honestly, more of a grin) he said, "Definitely still worth it."

At that, Ginny softened. Her shoulders relaxed, and her face smoothed out. Draco imagined her butting her head gently up under his hand, asking for more attention and affection.

"You know how much it means to me that you came clean about our relationship," she said as she walked over and leaned down to kiss him. "Thank you, Draco."

Draco shrugged lightly again, feeling very pleased with himself. It seemed the brothers had even given up, as the explosions had finally died down.

And then, two very terrible things happened. The first terrible thing: Ginny's grin widened wickedly, and she snapped, "But the _way_ you delivered the news completely negates any bonus points you may've gotten from doing it, which leaves my _brothers_."

Her eyes were cold and maniacal, a familiar enough sight that Draco knew to run, but she'd trapped him flat on his back on the bed, and her fingernails were like claws – exactly like a cat that suddenly exacts unexpected revenge in the form of your arm as a scratch-post.

The second terrible thing happened almost immediately after the first, just long enough that Draco had time to freeze up in fear.

Outside the door, a muffled voice insisted, "Look, I'm a _Curse Breaker_, step out of my bloody way and let me open it!"

Equally muffled grumbles followed, and Ginny leered down at him with _complete_ _evil knowledge_ of what she was doing, and Draco couldn't do anything in time.

The door swung open with a creak. Six protective older brothers loomed down at Ginny straddling Draco.

He gulped.

She smirked.


	11. Dreams

**11. Dreams** [145]

* * *

She appears in his dreams only three times. There's probably meaning in that.

The first time, she's naked and they're doing things it's really not polite to talk about. It's the most pleasant of the three by far, even if when he wakes up it's cause for a mildly awkward trip to the bathroom.

The second time is vastly different; she's screaming and he's dying. The really remarkable thing about it is that it's not in fact a nightmare. Draco wakes up and wonders at his own morbidity, but he truly does see that dream as one of the best realistic endings.

The third and final time, the dream is quiet. She is pregnant and they are in love, and when he wakes up with his hand resting on a baby-swollen belly, it takes Draco several moments to remember who his wife really is.


	12. Puzzle

**12. Puzzle** [399]

* * *

Ginny enjoys puzzles. She always has, it's just that over time, her focus has shifted from little bits of cardboard to people, puzzling out their very souls. Sure, it sounds difficult, but it's not really; not such a big step up from 10,000-piece wizard puzzles with moving pictures (yes, she's solved several).

Neville, whom she worked out first, was actually probably a step down. He's easy to interpret; a massive inferiority complex, only exacerbated by things like his bad memory and bad magic, and bullies such as Draco and Snape swooping down and targeting him for seven years of crucial development. But he's got courage enough – he's in Gryffindor after all. It's just hidden down deep, and Ginny tries to coax it out as best as she can, whether by standing up for him, not letting him put himself down, or just bothering to ask him about plants every now and then.

The proof is in the pudding: Neville ends up finding some vast measure of courage and contributes greatly to the war, becoming both a vital partner during her sixth year and an essential member of the final battle. Ginny doesn't kid herself that she's responsible for this; Neville's the only one who deserves the credit, but the point is that she puzzled him out and helped him along the way.

She does this often actually, altering her behaviour just slightly to suit each new person, to help them bring out the best she spies deep inside. Some are easier puzzles than others, but the process is always fun, and Ginny is quite enjoying her latest acquisition.

Draco Malfoy is completely perplexing, a million pieces that all walk around through the frames and get lost under the carpet for a week as well, and Ginny could hug him for it. Once, when she was completely stuck on a particular grey-blue part, she did. The result put together an entire wall and undid at least 200 linkages she thought were perfect. It's been a year already and she's still just barely at the beginning.

It might be wrong to think of people as puzzles, but Ginny doesn't think so. She's not going to stop anyway, not until she at least finishes this one, which she has a feeling will take a lifetime.

Ginny loves him for it; he's the only one who's ever posed such a challenge.


	13. Discrepant

**13. Discrepant** [400]

* * *

Having six older sisters, Draco had thought he knew at least _some_thing about how the female mind worked, but apparently he'd been wrong. But it wasn't his fault, really – Ginny Weasley was an only child after all, and richer than Merlin, so it wasn't like her situation was similar to his sisters'. And she _was_ a Gryffindor, who knew how their minds worked – certainly not the same way as the proudly Slytherin (and proudly pure, if admittedly falling upon hard times lately) Malfoy line.

But honestly, none of that was any reason why she seemed completely incapable of noticing him for the past six years. Perhaps it was their family feud that was to blame for Ginny never seeming to get that Draco was attempting to make romantic advances, not snide comments (he refused to think it was _his_ fault; over half the girls in his year were in love with him, after all).

Regardless of the reason, though, Ginny's obliviousness was getting rather wearing. Not because Draco hated being in love despite it going against all Slytherin and Malfoy principles alike – with someone who wouldn't even give him a second glance. Not because he could be getting plenty of dates if he'd just forget her. Not because he'd bet Blaise for his Firebolt that she'd fall for him before she graduated. Not because Draco was sick of Fred and George's teasing and Ron's shrieking tantrums about how no Malfoy should ever become involved with a stuck-up _Weasley_. (He also had no idea why all of his sisters chose _male_ nicknames for their otherwise relatively normal first names; Wilhelmina, Charlotte, Persephone, Georgette, Winifred, and Veronica went by Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Fred, and Ron, and they all _insisted_ that each of them chose their nicknames completely independent of the trend – but that was beside the point, if perpetually annoying.)

No, though all of those reasons were true, Draco was really getting sick of Ginny's attitude towards him because she was in her seventh year. Seeing as he was currently in his sixth and school was the only tenuous thread that kept them acquainted, his worry – that she'd leave without even _once_ noticing him and he'd never see her again – was understandable.

…A rather longwinded explanation, but that was why he'd kissed her just now.

"I love you," he grumbled, and hoped for the best.


	14. Holiday

**14. Holiday** [207]

* * *

The thing that makes it worth it isn't the money, evident in every item around her to the point where she goggles as sneakily as she can (and knows they catch her anyway and smirk to themselves).

It isn't the courtesy presents she receives, which are entirely devoid of feeling but worth more than all previous years' gifts put together, and absolutely luxurious for it.

It isn't the look on her hosts faces, when Lucius runs across her jumping in puddles or Narcissa comes across her sneaking out of Draco's room early in the morning, all flushed and messy-haired (even in such a situation, Narcissa keeps a better mask, just asking if Ginny's ready for breakfast – so Lucius is much more fun to mess with).

It's not even the time she spends with Draco throughout the week, which is sweet-and-sour in the best of ways, and though it takes serious effort not to kill him, she's also very much in love.

The thing that makes forfeiting her family for Christmas, skipping out on a year of tradition and family and fun, in favor of awkward silences and wealth and very little holiday cheer, really _worth it_ – it's a simple thing.

It's that she was invited.


	15. Mirror

**15. Mirror** [400]

* * *

The Mirror of Erised is limited. It seems so boundless, capable of turning even abstract concepts into concrete images of desire, but that's not so. It's limited directly to the limits of the mind of its user. It truly is a _mirror_ – it can't show a person an image they haven't already conceived, conscious or not. It is limited terribly, limited to not only a person's awareness in images, but also in time.

The Mirror cannot tell the future or the past. It can't tell a person what they want _forever_. All the Mirror does is reflect back its users greatest desire _at that very instant_. For some, the image will never change. For other, more content people, it might be different every day – but never does the Mirror choose.

Ginny Weasley doesn't once see the Mirror. But Draco does, twice – he's got connections, after all.

The first time, he is six years old and in a grand hall full of marble and shining surfaces. Inside the mirror he is King, he is adored and lavished with praise by all, including his parents, who are calm but proud with a hand each on their son's shoulders.

When Draco next sees the mirror, it's being moved past him in the Ministry. He's standing in cuffs and the mirror is wrapped up, but the man levitating it swerves to dodge a paper airplane and shakes the wrapping loose, and for half an instant, he sees –

Draco sees himself exactly as he is, with the single exception that there is a woman standing beside him, hands on her hips. She does not care for the cuffs, even if he doesn't mind (he _is_ only a recent defector in a war comprised largely of spyfare) and picks up his hand. Shakes it at the guard, displaying his red wrists as if to say _see? See what you've done?_

– Then it's wrapped again and he's shoved into the lift for his hearing, but Draco is stunned. More than he should be really, and it's not so much _her_ as it is realizing he's perfectly content with how everything else has turned out.

An hour later and a much poorer man, Draco sulks and thinks his reflection in the Mirror would be rather different already, with far more gold for one. It's a comfort; he doesn't know what he'd do without desire.


	16. Seeking Peace

**16. Seeking Peace** [400]

* * *

Draco's reasoning probably wouldn't make sense to most people. How could dating Ginny possibly be construed as _peaceful?_ Ginny was many good things to be sure, but 'peaceful' wasn't one of them. 'Volatile' was more appropriate.

Still, Draco insisted that was why. He didn't explain it, and most people didn't understand. They cited the Weasley/Malfoy and Gryffindor/Slytherin differences, along with the couple's own frequent clashes, as direct evidence that the relationship was not, and could never be, peaceful.

But most people didn't know a certain small fact about Draco. Draco never did interpret things like other people. Whether it was words or rules or fights or relationships, Draco almost always managed to find some interpretive loophole that set him apart from the rest and let him do what he wanted.

In this case, his loophole lay in that for Draco, 'peace' had nothing to do with fighting or conflict of any sort. Instead, Draco had adopted the phrase 'peace of mind' and then chosen further to define that as a state in which he was able to act naturally without thinking things through. In other words, relaxed.

It might sound like a simple thing, but for a Slytherin and a Malfoy, it was anything but; Draco constantly found himself viewing life as nothing more than a game of chess. The strategizing was exhausting to say the least, but a fully ingrained habit, to the point that Draco often didn't even realize he was doing it. It had become his normal state, and the stress it added to life was accepted as mundane, at least until Ginny Weasley.

After Ginny Weasley, Draco became painfully aware of the peace he lacked. He obtained it briefly in most battles with her, once even stomping his foot in frustration and reveling in his thoughtless childishness. He achieved it more firmly when talking with her, once she began to really figure out how to catch him off guard, and he'd say more than he ever meant to. He achieved it most of all when falling in love, when he found he could give a damn what anyone else thought so long as he had her.

Most people probably wouldn't understand that wild abandon; it had always been an option for them. But for Draco it was like release from prison, and who'd ever want to go back?

Most people didn't get that, but some did.


	17. Questioning

**17. Questioning** [400]

* * *

Granted, the Weasleys were a pathetic lot and Draco hadn't expected much of them; but he'd thought even _they_ could find it in themselves to stay on track once in a while. At least in a situation like this, when so much hung on the outcome of this interview, he'd have thought they'd know to be serious.

Apparently not.

The moment Ginny left, the Weasley in front of him stopped asking about his knowledge of the Dark Lord's plans in favor of – well…

"What exactly is your relationship with my sister?" The redhead inquired. At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself, though not much.

Draco cursed Veritaserum and Weasleys alike as he opened his mouth. "We're dating."

A twin shouted, "A-_HA_!"

His cry was swiftly followed by a strangled roar of rage (Ron), that Draco tentatively translated as, "I'll kill him – _mangle_ – how _dare_ –"

The anonymous brother (as if Draco could bother himself to remember the names of twenty redheaded idiots – or had they multiplied again after that? –he couldn't remember) across the table looked actually shocked. "Wait, really?" he asked. "Since when?"

Draco rattled off a date at the potion's behest, and found himself immediately bombarded with more queries for the next several minutes. The brothers were showing far more interest in this topic than they had in the official investigation, something Draco found privately insulting; this was to determine whether he was trustworthy for the Order or not, so his life was sort of riding on the outcome. But apparently that mattered less than if he had ever 'compromised Ginny's virtue', as spoken by the one with glasses.

Had Draco had control over his tongue, he'd have said something glib and sarcastic. As it was, he uttered a bland "yes" and Ginny luckily returned with her beverage before the collective rage had time to explode properly.

The bloke in front of Draco took advantage of the ensuing confusion to lean forward and ask, very quietly, "Do you love her?"

Draco met the man's eyes stolidly. He'd have given anything not to reply, but Veritaserum showed no preference; his mouth worked on its own and produced a firm, almost defiant, "Yes."

The Weasley trash leaned back and smiled as if pleased, fingers playing with his ponytail, and Draco had to suppress the urge to snarl.

Bloody Weasleys.

_Completely_ unprofessional.


	18. Red

**18. Red** [400]

* * *

It was a heavily guarded secret, but Gryffindor red was Draco's favorite colour.

The preference had absolutely nothing to do with the House itself – Draco had liked it since childhood. He'd first seen it as a bit part of the Malfoy family tapestry, a thin border around the various names, and had felt drawn to it immediately, though he hadn't mentioned so at the time and was grateful for his reticence later.

The secret had never once been uttered aloud, and Draco had taken great pains not to reveal it through his actions – after all, scarlet was a color with varied bad associations, from promiscuity to blood to Gryffindors. Still, he couldn't help it. He just _liked_ the color, and in the end it wasn't really a surprise that he ended up falling in love with someone who had such bright red hair.

The hair itself wasn't the reason why, obviously – if _that_ had been true, Draco would have been more likely to be attracted to Ron, considering how much more frequently they saw each other, which was quite frankly the stuff of night terrors.

But though it wasn't the reason why, it _was_ a delicious perk. Draco had deprived himself of the color so much during his early years – and even afterwards, he had appearances to keep up after all – that his affection for it had only grown. He was inordinately fond, for instance, of playing with Ginny's hair when he could get away with it. Of course this gradually tipped her off and she began to tease him, testing which hairstyles and clothes brought out the color – and his corresponding reaction – best.

Eventually, his wife did what wives traditionally do, and Draco became proud father of an adorable little girl. She was clever, and quite shamelessly a spoiled daddy's girl; it was his fault really, he knew. His initial joy on seeing her blinding scarlet hair had never quite gone away, and he was always holding her on his knee, French-braiding it and listening to her stories. Due to the love her father held for it, she never cut her hair and so got away with absolutely everything under the sun.

His reaction really wouldn't have been quite so bad, he'd always thought, if Blaise hadn't completely convinced him that the hair of any child he and Ginny had would be pink.


	19. Happiness

**19. Happiness** [400]

* * *

On the surface, Draco Malfoy was a blessed man. He had everything anyone else could ever want; wealth, power, looks, talent, etc. Of course no one is really that perfect, and Draco lacked one crucial life skill.

The poor boy couldn't flirt if he'd been _Imperio_'d. It seemed physically impossible for him. And it wasn't that he wasn't handsome or witty, or any of the other things that generally aided a good flirter. Many girls were drawn in by his charisma at first…

…And then after even just a single conversation with him, they all seemed to disappear. Some even gave him disgusted looks as though he had personally affronted them; when he tried to discreetly ask why, they merely scoffed.

It was _infuriating_.

Still, Draco had begun to make great progress on controlling his anger lately. His Life Coach (not that anyone knew; Draco would never leak any sort of need for one, so to the public they were just friends), Ginny Weasley, put much emphasis on that. His people skills weren't good on an individual basis; while he knew how to handle a crowd, one-on-one Draco was "manipulative and immature". So that was what they had been practicing together.

They most often did this by simulating dates. Ginny would grade Draco on how he spoke and acted, warning him whenever "too much arrogance shone through". The whole thing really ought to have been tiresome and humiliating, but Draco didn't mind. Going out on all the pointless dates was really quite fun. He enjoyed seeing how far he could tease her without lowering his grade, and since she didn't seem to mind, they practiced almost every night. Draco had yet to put what he was learning into practice, but for some reason it didn't exactly seem urgent. Spending time with Ginny was enough, better in some ways – girls always acted like he was committing some terrible wrong by trying to flirt with them anyway.

It was probably a good thing Draco didn't read tabloids, or he'd rapidly figure out why – splashed across almost every new _Witch Weekly_ was another 'candid photo' of the two of them, laughing or holding hands or eating dinner at a dimly-lit restaurant.

_Ginny_ read tabloids, but somehow the topic never came up. He kept asking her out on practice dates, she kept accepting, and both of them walked around with small smiles.


	20. Family

**20. Family** [359]

* * *

"You know," he said in a low voice, breath gusting slightly on her collarbone, "our families aren't that different."

He moved on in the next instant, vanishing into the crowd before she had time to retort, which was all very well really, since she was too busy goggling to think of one. And honestly, _was_ there one, other than, "you're crazy"?

This was _Draco Malfoy_ – she was _Ginny Weasley_, and he was saying their families weren't different? And why was he saying so to her anyway? They didn't even know each-other – she could count the times they'd interacted on one hand. He _had_ to be crazy, right?

Still, it stuck in her head. She never quite forgot that unexplained moment, even if she never pursued him to ask him about it. It colored her perceptions of him ever so slightly, as she wondered on and on what it could mean, why he'd felt the need to tell her.

When Percy left, for the first time she thought she might see it, but the comparison so clear to him still remained elusive to Ginny. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, that she eventually forgot she ever wanted to say, and it wasn't until after the final battle that she remembered again.

She'd regained Percy, filled that hole and Fred had opened a new one that would never close. And she saw them across the room – huddled together, alone and hated and somehow all alive, his mother's hands trembling and his father's lips twitching at the corners. He looked down only, at his plate, but for one moment.

He glanced up, his eyes met hers, and for a second he smiled with such a terrible sort of relieved joy that her heart skipped and she felt it all over again, his breath on her skin and his words quiet but _necessary_ to utter.

The smile dropped off his face but it was evident in all his being after that, and Ginny finally understood. It didn't really change anything, and yet it _did_ – she shivered and smiled her own sad smile, and curled closer into her own circle, exactly the same but larger.


	21. Divorce

**21. Divorce** [399]

* * *

It was with nervous elation that Draco signed the final paper – he felt jittery and sick in the way that came from eating too many Chocolate Frogs. In fact he could almost feel them hopping in his stomach as he closed the folder and passed it back across the table.

He oughtn't be happy, he reminded himself, schooling his features and linking his fingers together tightly. His wife (_ex-wife, **ex**__-wife! _a jubilant voice in his head contributed) was right there, for Merlin's sake! He shouldn't be so overjoyed – at the very least must not _show_ it.

But it was so bloody difficult when he knew she was _right outside_, after so many years – and he reeled his thoughts in with a jerk. He really should hate himself for this joy (but couldn't, just couldn't). His poor wife (_ex-wife now!_) really did love him; had married him knowing he didn't love her; was now being forced to give him up for the sake of a person who had failed to even consider him since an unfortunate mistake in school. There were the children to consider, as well – this was far from any sort of happy ending.

It was a _beginning_ though, and one with Ginny after all this time – Draco had not so much endured the scandal of his affair as he had completely ignored it in favor of her, and now it was all over. Over, and she was waiting for him in the restaurant _right across the street_.

He pushed up from the table abruptly, and the previously composed Astoria flinched and let out a tiny noise, a sort of exhausted whimper. Draco didn't even notice, too eager to be gone, but he at least leaned over the table and gave her one last congenial hug (whispering a "thank you" she really didn't want into her ear) before striding quickly out the door.

Astoria fingered the papers for a moment before turning to the window and waiting. It took only seconds, and there he was – dodging trolleys in the street to whisk Ginny up in the air and kiss her with all the passion of teens. They looked truly in love, oblivious to everything around them, and she couldn't really hate them, quite, not Draco at least (she'd expected this, anyway).

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and smiled.

It took a few tries.


	22. Flying

**22. Flying** [393]

* * *

Flying as an Animagus was completely different from on a broomstick. There was a new sort of joy in the exertion, a shamelessness as well. Her whole mentality changed when she was in her winged horse form, soaring through the sky powerful stroke after stroke, and new alliances made perfect sense somehow.

He was some sort of eagle, what type Ginny wasn't sure, but it had powerful gold eyes, a beak and claws made to kill, glossy soft feathers, and wings longer than her arm. He was splendid, powerful, beautiful; she felt the same.

They took off together. He perched on her shoulders and she galloped faster and faster, then swung her wings out in a great _push_. In perfect tandem, she felt his claws dig in and then release, his own powerful wings spreading in a great rush of feathers that somehow never tangled with her own.

They flew together. He dove like a bullet and she strained after, not nearly so maneuverable. She hovered, steady slow pumps of her wings keeping her aloft, and he wheeled about in search of an updraft to do the same. They flew onward together, amidst the clouds and breeze, dipping and swirling round one another, occasionally exchanging sounds – neither quite knew what they were saying yet, but feelings got conveyed somehow, and those too were in perfect tandem.

They landed apart. Ginny touched down into a gallop and slowed into a canter, then a trot, until she finally stopped with a mild prance next to the instructor standing on a bale of hay. Draco zoomed straight down, caught himself with his wings at the last moment and dropped gently into a perch on the fence, claws gripping and piercing the wood. The distance began there: they didn't look at each other, but at the instructor, as they concentrated and shifted back into human form – Ginny pushing herself up from a crouch, Draco leaping nimbly down to the ground.

They left separately; both on broomsticks, as they weren't cleared yet for unsupervised transformation. And though it was the same sky, same breeze and same clouds, though they went the same direction, they were not together and never acknowledged each other.

Something about being human was far too complicated to understand, and in those leaving moments, she found herself longing for the simple feelings animals shared.


	23. Drowning

**23. Drowning** [309]

* * *

It was getting more frequent. She'd look his way and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

It was like drowning, too-slow and agonizing, and she didn't even notice.

It was everywhere, water over his head and no surface in sight, no possible escape.

It was every _time_. She looked over and he was helpless, oxygen-starved and useless.

It was inescapable, he was adrift in an ocean and she didn't _know_, so what could he do? Nothing, that had to be the answer, nothing but try to fight against the exhaustion that sank into his limbs whenever she was near. He just had to keep treading water, keep his face above the surface, just at least until something came along to save him. He just had to endure that long, it couldn't be that long.

It was not getting any better. Worse, in fact; now all she had to do was _be there_ and he felt the water in his lungs, shivered and hated her and wanted her like air.

It was like drowning, too-fast and agonizing, and she still had no clue.

It was all he could do, it was a life-raft he clung to and it was useless, smashed apart in the turbulence, and he gave up on other girls.

It was over. He'd sunk and he knew it and he watched her, felt the lack of air as keenly as the first time.

It was inevitable. He'd see her and shipwreck, speak and lose strength to tread, kiss and drown completely, and he had no recourse because he _needed_ air, needed –

It was a confession. "I love you, stop doing this to me."

It was a response. "I've done nothing to you, you're the one who's gotten me– "

It was _air_, tangy and sharp and sweet, burning in his throat and he swore he'd never let it go.


	24. Bed

**24. Bed** [400]

* * *

It was small, and itchy (what were "bedbugs", exactly? he'd heard of such things, were they real and a threat? because if so, this must be their habitat). The mattress under his back was lumpy, too-hard and too-soft in various places, and the pillow didn't bear contemplating.

The sheets were _coarse_, had they never heard of bloody thread-count, and – he was a guest. He must remember that.

He was a guest and this was the house of his future relatives (he'd managed to control the shudder this time, he was improving). Even if their idea of a fun time was mauling gnomes, what did it matter? If they exploded toilets and had the worst taste in radio stations and smelled atrocious, it wasn't like he'd be here often (right?).

If… if he could _feel_ his muscles cramping just from laying here, if this was less comfortable than the floor (which was _dirty_, couldn't they have at least one house-elf?), if he felt springs on his back and his feet stuck over the edge and had they woven this themselves because the _thread-count,_ and if it all smelled vaguely of mold, what did it really matter?

This was for Ginny. She loved him, they were getting married, she wanted him to become an accepted member of the family and so he was a guest and must remember his manners because his fiancée knew quite a lot of curses really and – _what just crawled on his arm?_

That was it. He was sleeping on the couch. The one with the relatively comforting look of being once store-bought and not constructed by Merlin knew what atrocities. The one with the too-squishy pillows that may or may not have been made out of old laundry. The one with the suspicious stain on the headrest and little red hairs everywhere (what _were_ they, dogs? what was with the bloody shedding?) and the prevalent laundry smell.

Or, well, sleep was overrated. After all, he had wedding vows to write, a honeymoon to arrange, a million reasons to stay up. It wasn't avoidance, just… eagerness. Looking forward to the wedding (and finding some excuse to burn this place to the ground because hell if he'd let his children visit the place, it looked like it was falling over and they had _chickens_ wandering about, one'd _pooped in his boot_).

What a good fiancé he was.


	25. Balloon

**25. Balloon** [347]

* * *

If Draco had to categorize his relationship with Ginny Weasley, he'd immediately confuse the inquirer by stating, "She's ballast."

It was not quite a flattering term, equating his girlfriend (the more sociably acceptable response) as it did to a big bag of sand, but that wasn't quite how it was meant. Of course, the actual meaning was debatably no nicer.

To Draco, Ginny Weasley kept him from flying away. If he was a hot-air balloon, she was the ballast that ultimately tied him to earth, and only the knowledge that he'd have to jettison her had kept him from giving up and leaving long ago. She kept him connected with reality and what was necessary and she was real like only dirt and sand could really be; he didn't view 'ballast' as such a nasty term.

Of course, in the back of the mind he knew also why he called her that. Because ballast was always expendable, no matter how repellent the thought currently was. He could be a permanent flight risk and she'd be the only thing holding him back, and it was totally up to him – if he decided to fly away higher, he'd just toss her over the side and that was what ballast was _for_ just as much as holding him down, so no need to feel guilty.

He never mentioned his reasons for thinking so, had only mentioned the term once in a joking manner, but she'd picked up on everything he'd not said and had gone quiet deep inside.

Because if to Draco, Ginny was the ballast keeping the balloon down – then to Ginny, Draco was the flame soaring it higher (flickering and rushing in the wind and always dancing and burning, hot enough to melt her down into glass).

Sometimes, she almost wanted him to toss her aside, if only to see how high he could go before being crushed by the atmosphere. If only to find out whether it would happen before or after she hit the ground and shattered out into a million motes of sand.


	26. Compressed

**26. Compressed** [301]

* * *

It starts with, "You absolute _bastard_."

He grins at her with white teeth and no shame whatsoever and she glares with all the venom she can muster, which isn't exactly much when she's upside down and being carried across the dark lawn. His eyes aren't malevolent but his smile is and her hair drags in the dirt, picking up leaves.

Later it's still, "You absolute _bastard._"

But this time it's over a table covered with cards and cash, she's half-naked and he's fully dressed and enjoying himself far too much. He's got a dark suit on, the room is black except for the red light over the table, and he stares at her with something much more than lust. She doesn't blush, but instead downs another bottle of Firewhiskey and demands he shake out his sleeves. He does so, completely sober and humoring her.

It ends with, "You absolute _bastard._"

Because she can't seem to say anything else and he's still smiling, holding open the door to destruction and bright sunlight for the first time in so long. She's safe; her hair is longer and contrasts more against her skin that is now too pale. The concrete walls of the place barely peek up from the ground, and she can understand how he managed to conceal her so long, even why. His eyes are trained on her, his smile a bit too bright, and he bows with an elaborate flourish at the blue sky. She curtsies back on a whim, and he laughs like his chest is seizing, then reaches out and kisses her quickly before she can say no.

She does anyway, once he's done, and he laughs again before handing over her wand and telling her she's free to go home though her house was long ago burnt down.


	27. Reinvigorated

**27. Reinvigorated** [295]

* * *

It didn't spray so much as slide; he couldn't feel it hitting his skin but felt it trickle down his body to the tile beneath his feet. Heard the quiet sort of _wshhh_ noise from the nozzle, the _tak-tak-tak_ of droplets pounding on the floor around him. He tasted it with every breath because it was sliding down his face and into his mouth, but he didn't bother to move. Eyes closed and world empty of everything but the slipping sensation and gentle dripping down, he breathed in deep through his nose and smiled.

It was like an experience, like something he felt and didn't participate in. The feeling crept up on him like water slipping down, and he heard echoes of her voice in his mind. He saw her even with his eyes closed and the water slipping just-so onto his tongue tasted like her breath. She was everywhere, raining, dripping down straight into his heart and lungs and he felt the tension in his back relaxing.

Casting everything else aside had been as easy as stripping off his clothes. And then before he really knew what was going on, he'd stepped right into the shower, and the idea of her hit him like the first cool drops. It slid down unchecked, integrated right in and made itself comfortable, and relaxed every inch of his body, swept it clean. All he could do in return was close his eyes and stand still, breathe and let it have it's way with him because there was no resisting a thing like this.

He smiled because it was the first time the world had felt this new. And when he opened his eyes water dripped from his lashes, coloring the way he saw the world.


	28. Spilt Milk

**28. Spilt Milk** [400]

* * *

Of all inauspicious beginnings, she managed to spill the milk in her cup on his lap while reluctantly shaking hands. Draco had a minor conniption, of course.

"_Milk?_" He asked scathingly. "What are you, seven?"

Ginny, of course, went straight to scowling even though it was all her fault. She then shoved a pile of papers off his second desk – technically hers now – straight into the bin, and snapped, "Oh, just _Scourgify_ and quit your whinging."

Clearly the Ministry needed a better method of assigning Auror partnerships than their current one. They may as well have been just picking straws if they thought this would ever work.

Actually, knowing the Ministry, that was more than likely what they'd done. And knowing the Ministry, they would staunchly insist this pairing-up was the result of a series of in-depth psychological assessments and skill ratings, and would refuse to ever consider reassigning either one of them.

Draco sighed at this thought and glanced up. It had only been five minutes, but Ginny had leapt straight into her work – namely the clearing out of all of _his_ old work. He'd been using the half of the room that was now hers as a sort of storage cabinet, and she was ferrying pile after pile of papers back towards him. In fact – had she – yes, she had, she'd actually _drawn _a _line_ down the carpet to separate them, the insane twit.

_He_ had been going to do that.

Draco glared at Ginny. In response, she 'accidentally' knocked over the latest stack of papers, which skidded over the floor in a way that promised a migraine later. He glared harder, of course, but she just huffed and turned back around, careful to keep her feet on her side of the line as she bent over to get the next stack (the Ministry _really_ had to cut down on paperwork).

Despite the cleaning spell, Draco's shirtfront definitely still smelled like milk. There was a line on his floor in red and gold –_Gryffindor colors_. Previously sorted paperwork was spread across the floor. The window was showing a field of flowers, not the forest he'd set it at (when had she done _that?_). And Ginny should really stop bending over like that if she wanted him to do his work and not ogle her backside.

Oh, this was going to be just _splendid._


	29. Contempt

**29. Contempt** [400]

* * *

Ginny was well aware that she was meant to be that kind and compassionate one. She'd been stereotyped that way her whole life, what with the whole "baby sister" and "Gryffindor" and even "good guy" roles she daily played out. For the most part, she _was_ kind, compassionate, and forgiving. Snarky, maybe, and fond of teasing – but never really ill-willed, and she didn't hate much other than Dark Wizards.

However, Ginny _did_ hold several things in very deep contempt.

One of these things was the man she was currently kissing.

Of course, given that, it would be a wonder that she was kissing him, enthusiastically at that, but everyone has secrets in their life they'd rather not speak about. This was Ginny's and she was practically plastered to Draco Malfoy, clutching him as if he was all that kept her alive. He held on just as tightly, and they made love like there was no tomorrow.

They did this perhaps twice a month.

Ginny held no respect for Draco and frankly didn't consider him worth even – well, _considering_. She completely ignored him and his dubious lifestyle the other twenty-eight days a month, but every now and then the pressure in her own life built up to boiling point and it needed a release (especially when Harry was still such a bloody idiot about _everything_) and somehow Draco had become that.

She couldn't even remember how. Ginny tried not to think about Draco at all, even when in his arms, and she mostly succeeded. He didn't exactly care about her either – it wasn't as if they talked much. Their relationship was pretty straightforwardly stress-release and nothing more. Ginny would arrive by Floo when she felt the urge and if Draco was available (which he sometimes wasn't) they would barely exchange hellos before she had crossed the room and kissed him. After the initial kiss there was never any hesitation, not even when she woke and left him still sleeping.

Ginny despised Draco, but she did need him. And as a result she couldn't quite suppress his existence or importance to her as much as she wished. Sometimes her control slipped and she pictured the impossible image of grey eyes actually looking at her tenderly.

If she'd ever looked at his face during the split-second she stepped out of his fireplace, she may really have seen them.


	30. Acceptance

**30.** **Acceptance **[400]

* * *

In anticipation of a long and painful struggle to rid her boyfriend of his Muggle-hating upbringing, Ginny had very carefully chosen certain Muggle objects to integrate into her (and his) daily life. Her use of common Muggle objects was meant to show Draco that the majority of the world's population wasn't all stupid or backwards just because they didn't have magic; in fact, often the opposite. It ended up being a learning experience for her too, as Ginny was herself an uneducated (if tolerant) pureblood, and so she herself had to research everything she presented to Draco.

Of course, like any project, there were hiccups and it constantly seemed to be just a few tasks too low on her to-do list. Ginny never really got around to introducing Draco to more than an electric shaver, which hadn't been much of a success anyway.

It had taken over two hours to try and explain batteries to him before she gave up and just told him they were necessary. And then he was relatively unfamiliar with the concept of buttons and completely new to the rotating blades, and the whole thing had ended with an extremely frustrated Ginny rushing out to work. He had been holding the little buzzing machine at arms length and drawling something about how he'd "trust blades that didn't move on their own at extremely fast speeds, thanks", and Ginny had never seen the thing again. Which was annoying, since it was a rather expensive brand, but there you go.

In fact, by mid-season Ginny had almost entirely forgotten about her failed campaign. The _Harpies_ were doing well, but so were many other teams and the Cup seemed on the line with every match – so Ginny was understandably run quite ragged during training every day, and all she did most nights was stagger in the door and collapse into bed still dressed.

So with all that, Ginny completely missed what was going on under her nose until she woke up early one Saturday morning – her first day off in a month, as it happened – to a distinctive buzzing sound. It took several seconds to place, and when Ginny _did_ she couldn't believe her own ears until she snuck into the bathroom and was confronted with the baffling image of Draco nonchalantly shaving his face with a black Muggle-made electric shaver, like he did it everyday.


	31. City

**31.** **City **[321]

* * *

Even the most wealthy and well-established wizards don't live in large communities. This is very important. That large a space permanently blocked from Muggle notice would be, ironically enough, noticed rather quickly. Actually, it's the oldest and richest wizard families that are the most wide-spread, in large mansions in various removed countrysides. They don't need to be close to anything because they can just Floo and Apparate there anyway.

It's the poorer wizards, the ones with more mixed blood, who live much closer to or sometimes even _in _Muggle towns. They don't tend to Apparate as much, since it makes such a noticeable sound on quiet streets, but they've still got Floo and little need to have everything clustered all in one space.

Many wizards never set foot in a Muggle zone. Most don't even enter Diagon Alley by way of the Hog's Head, Platform 9-and-three-quarters from King's Cross, or the Ministry from a telephone booth. Floo is there, Apparition, _magic_, who needs the smelly bustling crowded mundane outside world?

Draco Malfoy had never seen a Muggle building in his life until he turned twenty-one and Ginny thought they should go to a Muggle pub and taste Muggle alcohol. He thought it couldn't compare to firewhiskey of course, but he humored her because she was his best friend and she'd never walked city streets either (though she'd driven through them in a Ministry-issued car and flown over them on a thestral's back).

No one knows exactly what happened during those six hours the pair was in London. When asked about it the next day Draco blushed and declined to answer, still clad in a Hawaiian t-shirt and with traces of makeup on his face, glitter in his hair; Ginny (still respectably dressed but with a bag full of snowglobes for some reason) burst out laughing and did the same.

They did both, however, confirm that Muggle alcohol is more effective than firewhiskey.


	32. Blue

**32.** **Blue **[400]

* * *

Dumbledore had the only blue eyes Draco had ever known.

Well, perhaps that wasn't technically true – various acquaintances might have had, and sometimes he was startled to realize that Ron Weasley's eyes were blue… They were average blue, neither light nor dark. They were just eyes, and nothing next to the boy's hair.

Albus Dumbledore, though, he had _blue_ eyes. No one had eyes like his, and Draco could never shake the feeling that those were the only blue eyes he'd ever known despite all the other people he'd met with the same color. But no one else had that exact shade, those _blue_ eyes that saw far too much and pierced far too deep and constantly laughed (with condescension or geniality he was never quite sure).

Dumbledore's eyes were bluer than the sky, bluer than the ocean, bluer than any other blue in the history of the color, and Draco had always hated them. At school, he'd hated the feeling that no matter what he did they knew all of it, hated the sensation of them boring into his back no matter what wall he pressed it up against. He had hated the way Dumbledore watched things like he knew _everything_, with that stupid little smile on his face and his blue eyes bloody _twinkling _at everyone, just saying, "I'm puppeteering you, my dears." Draco always felt like those eyes were toying with him, and yet was extremely conscious of how little they _were_ aimed at him, always focused on Potter, the favorite.

Now, Dumbledore long dead, the way Draco felt about those eyes wasn't much different. It was a morbid comfort to him that they had rotted long ago, probably eaten by worms in the first few weeks; that knowledge freed him from the feeling of being constantly watched. And often Draco forgot all about them – except for certain days, precipitated by nothing in particular.

On those days the sky stood out in bas-relief and he noticed Ron Weasley's eye color. On those days he felt a sense of impending horror, a claustrophobic sort of inescapability and when he fell asleep he dreamed of that moment on the Hogwarts rooftop. Dumbledore's eyes had never been bluer, never been brighter, never been crueler.

When Draco woke up after those days, he was always shivering without knowing why and Ginny was always stroking his arm. "A blue dream again?"


	33. Hear No Evil

**33.** **Hear No Evil **[261]

* * *

When she was a very young girl, Ginny liked to play a game. It was a simple game, and one that she could play by herself in the spare moments she _was_ by herself.

All it consisted of was sitting, putting her hands over her ears, and closing her eyes.

In this small way, Ginny blocked out the world and everything she didn't like. She wasn't a depressed youth by any means and her game generally only occurred when she was grumpy at being denied something, such as an ice-cream at Diagon Alley, and just wanted to be alone. She was invariably found and tugged back to family and cheerfulness and as she grew, slowly forgot all about the game.

When he was a very young man, Draco liked to play a game. It was a simple game, and one he could play by himself in the hours he spent locked alone in his cell.

All it consisted of was sitting, putting his hands over his ears, and closing his eyes.

It didn't really block anything out, because the screams were pretty much all in his head. The Dementors weren't stopped by hands over ears; and memories grew strong no matter where the eyes were aimed. Still, the game offered Draco a strange comfort he couldn't quite explain. He felt like he wasn't alone, but at the same time wasn't trapped in his memories. Days at a time passed with Draco immersed in this game, but although he only drew sparse minutes of comfort, it _was_ comfort and that was enough.


	34. Heartless

**34.** **Heartless **[400]

* * *

Ginny didn't like to think that she was ever cruel. She could be vicious and vengeful, certainly, and she could be immature and selfish too. But that was normal – no one was perfect, after all.

She certainly wasn't a bully. Not like Draco Malfoy, the most unashamed bully she had ever met. He made her stomach turn. He _was_ cruel, daily, and didn't seem to even take notice. So she took opportunities to hurt him, and never thought it mattered because he was just getting his due.

Perhaps that was why this came as such a shock.

To be fair, it probably wasn't her fault at all. Ginny didn't doubt that Malfoy hardly even noticed her for all the vitriol she aimed his way – he was far too obsessed with despising her older brother and his friends. And Ginny's attacks had always been more opportunistic, anyway. This would be one of the best moments for them.

Malfoy was crying. They weren't huge sobs, he was very quiet about it, but it was completely obvious that his face was covered in water and that his reddened eyes were the source. He looked completely and utterly miserable, and Ginny had no idea why but it tugged at her heartstrings because no one should look like that.

No one _should_, but Malfoy had been the cause of it for plenty of others, so it wasn't like she should care. He was just getting his due, so if someone had upset him this badly – he _had_ to have deserved it. In fact, he deserved far more than just one good cry.

Far more.

Ginny stepped out from behind the corner and walked around in front of him. She snorted out a laugh and he swung his head up to look at her. His face was very pale and the hands he lifted to wipe it quickly were scraped raw. Her stomach twisted and Ginny knew just how wrong it was, but she looked him in the eye and _laughed_.

His face flushed, his throat worked, and he shoved himself to his feet. He tried to threaten her, predictably, and Ginny shut him down with ease – he wasn't on his game at _all_, his voice actually shaking. He had to stop to sniff once, tears still falling as he glared murder at her.

This was _beyond_ cruel, Ginny acknowledged to herself, and kept laughing.


	35. Light

**35.** **Light **[340]

* * *

(It is like the sunlight that reflects off rocks underwater. All bent sideways and deceptive and making things look beautiful.)

Chains suit her, you think as your run your finger down them. Tears don't, but she doesn't have any so that's all right. She's not the sort to cry, your brave girl. No, she's the sort to curse at you and glare through slitted eyes and to kiss you like she's in love though she obviously wants you dead.

(She thinks she's fooling you and she's not. But that's all right as well, because you'll never tell her and you don't mind being used. Not when she goes so far to convince you, kisses you and strokes you and whispers those words in your ear gentle enough to make you break.)

Chains suit her even better when they are falling off her arms slowly, clinking on the floor. She's weak when she rises, swaying sickly, and gorgeous – you catch her about the waist and don't bother to hide your desire to keep her. She sees it and goes paler and whispers to hurry, afraid that you might change your mind.

(She thinks you're insane and you're not. Just in love in a slanted way that's depraved enough for you to use her without regret and just barely right enough for you to let her use you back.)

You don't change your mind of course, but she's not sure of it until the last instant, and in that instant she turns and hugs you with a sentiment far more honest than any other she's expressed all these months. You don't hug her back exactly, but you twist your fingers in her hair and take deep breaths until she pulls back, eyes open.

(It is like the sunlight that reflects off rocks underwater. All illusory and hopeful and just missing the deeper darkness.)

When she disappears with the Portkey, you put your hand in your pocket, three strands of red hair still twisted round your fingers, and do not say goodbye.


	36. Obvious

**36.** **Obvious **[345]

* * *

"Actually," he said with an air of afterthought, "your attraction to me is painfully obvious."

Ginny blinked, opened her mouth; closed it, and flushed. Draco smirked.

"You've never been good at hiding these sorts of things, ever since That Valentine" (he pronounced _That Valentine_ like it was legendary and unneeding of further clarification, only confirming a dreadful suspicion she'd always had) "but you really sank low this time."

He paused for a moment, and Ginny dared to hope he might be done, but he was just clearing his throat. He shook his head at her ruefully. "After all, just happening to frequent all my favorite places? And yet always furtive, unable to meet my eyes – it almost hurts to watch, really it does."

Ginny took a deep breath, humiliated. Draco was still _smirking_ at her in some sort of horrible amusement at her pain.

"Not, of course, that I want to cause you any discomfort – I feel for you, I really do. But – and Ginny, _don't_ get resentful – but I regret to inform you that I'm already in a perfectly happy relationship. This… well, I hesitate to call it _stalking_, but…"

Ginny _was_ feeling resentful. Very resentful, along with humiliated and shocked. It was not pleasant.

"Well, my point is just," and he reached out and put his hands on her _shoulders_, "I know it's hard, but please – give up on me. I can't stand seeing this go on any longer, and really it does you no credit. I'm _happy_, and if we once could have had something, the timing is all wrong now. So for your own sake, desist this nonsence before I'm forced to report you to the Ministry."

With a final curt nod, he let go of her and strode away, leaving Ginny paralyzed in shock and horror.

Draco slunk up from by the wall, now grinning outright. "_Ginny!_" He exclaimed gleefully. "Why, I never knew! And you so very obvious!"

"…I've never seen that man before in my life," Ginny said woodenly, too shell-shocked to even blink.


	37. Archaic

**37.** **Archaic **[399]

* * *

Mundungus Fletcher picked up a gold box with the Malfoy crest and shook it; there was the distinctive tinkle indicative of breaking glass. Draco's flinch nearly took him out of his chair.

Ginny laid a comforting hand on his arm. "It's all right," she murmured. "Just a few high-price items and I'm sure we can balance your checkbooks again. An auction doesn't mean it's _all_ got to go."

Draco curled his lips round his teeth in what might have been a smile if not for the snarl. "Sure," he said, staring fixedly at Mundungus. Bile rose in his throat when a piece of the man's robes actually _fell off_ onto the shag rug.

"I know this is… important to you," Ginny said slowly, "but it's not like you have to actually _be_ here for the appraisal."

"If I'm _not_," Draco muttered back, "_he_ will destroy everything."

Ginny bit her lip. "No, he'd probably just steal it. I _do_ wonder how he got this sort of job; for the Ministry no less…"

"Does it matter?" Draco asked. "The House-Elfs are sobbing in the sheets, I'll have you know. And – _don't touch that!_"

Mundungus, startled, yanked his (dirty, grubby) fingers away from a golden chalice, but too late – it had already started to bubble and dissolve.

"If anyone not of Malfoy blood handles it, it melts so no thieves can steal our wealth," Draco said mournfully, staring at the gook pooling on the desk. "That's been in the family for nine and a half generations."

"Um…" Ginny took Draco's shoulder and began to edge him away. "Come on, let's just take a walk, okay? I'll cheer you up."

Shoulders drooping, steps lagging, Draco followed her from the room.

Two hours later, she returned, sweaty, disheveled and triumphant. "Here," she said and handed a bust to Mundungus. "It's ages old, it should be more than enough. Now get lost before he figures it out – even for someone with no idea of the state of his finances, that went a bit _too_ easily."

Lying in his bed, an equally sweaty, disheveled, and triumphant Draco commended himself on his acting skill. As if he would be so easily taken in – no, Fletcher would be the one regretting things soon, when all Ginny gave him ended up returning in a few hours, as per the _Portus _Draco had set this morning.


	38. Home

**38. Home **[400]

* * *

There was, of course, the obviously traumatic factor of his manor having served as home base to Lord Voldemort for quite some time. His Muggle Studies teacher had been _dangled_ over his dining room table, and not even House-Elfs could quite get all the blood out. One might expect this to negatively influence Draco's feelings for his home.

But then again, the manor also came equipped with a thorough set of _dungeons_, which had a long and rather gruesome history of being put to use. His own bedroom was once the scene of a legendary and far too messy assassination; his mother had used to tell him bedtime stories about the bits of brain matter they'd found inside the chandelier.

Draco's family just sort of was naturally morbid. He'd long gotten over it. In his mind, the _setting_ didn't matter nearly so much as the _act_.

He'd always felt that way, except when the setting didn't meet his standards of what befitted someone of his wealth and status, so in the end it was no great surprise that Draco was completely unperturbed by proposing to Ginny while handcuffed to one of his family's dungeon's walls.

"Ew, put that _back_," was her disheartening reply, which Draco didn't quite understand until he realized she was referring to the gold ring he'd tugged off the finger of the skeleton hanging next to him.

"It's good quality," Draco assured her. "High-carat. Now, about marrying me…"

"Draco," Ginny tutted, "Do you _really_ think I'd accept any proposal that involved rats skittering over my feet and the possibility of a bloody death any minute if the rescue doesn't come through?"

He became disheartened. "But… it was spontaneous," he tried weakly. "I've been told that's quite charming."

Ginny flatly informed him that unless his spontaneity involved a beach, she knew where he could shove it. Draco pouted, and fell silent.

"…But this is quite romantic really!" He was still insisting hours later, unable to leave it alone. "My manor has a centuries-long history of marriage – kings and queens were married here, all sorts of legendary sorcerers, and –"

Ginny sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Look, none of them were in _handcuffs_, okay?" (Untrue.) "I told you already – I'll marry you on a beach and nowhere else!"

Silence. Finally, she'd won.

"…So, that's a yes, then? Here, stretch your left handcuff, I've got the ring again."


	39. Fun And Games

**39. Fun And Games **[400]

* * *

Draco had quite a few little games he liked to play in his spare time. These consisted of psychologically pressuring various people to see how they responded, trying to steal his dorm-mates' homework (bloody Slytherins and their paranoia), torturing first-years, and completely dominating the House at Exploding Snap. He found it all very relaxing – even the homework thing, as he generally didn't even _need_ to steal answers… it was just amusing to break past everyone's wards.

Still, even this varied range of pastimes got old after a while, and so when Draco saw a sign-up sheet for a Wizard's Chess Club appear one day in late October, he signed up for it with little hesitation. Chess was a sophisticated game – one that he, as a Malfoy, would no doubt excel at, but one that should at least pass the time.

Draco did not foresee the club being popular enough to require a placement test. He did not expect said placement test to be a timed match against one Ronald Weasley; and he did _not _anticipate being soundly defeated in under sixty seconds.

It was humiliating. Especially since there were people present. Who laughed. Draco made a silent vow: he would climb the ranks of the club to challenge Weasley again, but _this_ time victory would be his and no one could make snide remarks ever again.

Thus fired up, Draco was rather let down to discover that only one other person had done as badly as he – Weasley's little sister. They were constantly paired together simply because everyone else got bored playing them, but to each other they were quite a challenge. Their games lasted hours while even their own chess pieces grew disgusted with them and had to be switched out from various boxes, but Draco and Ginny were both so caught up in the game, pathetically determined to win, that they didn't even notice time passing.

At some point Draco lost sight of his goal to defeat Weasley; or rather, it turned into an ongoing competition with a different Weasley. They stopped attending the club and met privately; and occasionally when neither could procure a chess-set or when the pieces screamed and hid at the sight of them (Draco set his on fire last time they tried that), they met without the game and found the company quite pleasant.

Well, it was a start, at least.


	40. Clothes

**40. Clothes **[400]

* * *

Perhaps it was because she was the only girl in her family, but Ginny had never much been interested in fashion. She was always more of a tomboy as a child, and the witch robes at Hogwarts weren't exactly figure flattering. She managed to coast by for seventeen full years without the general public caring about her more flattering physical attributes.

But after graduation was a different matter. As a star professional Quidditch player, Ginny was expected to attend publicity events in custom – _flattering_ and _stylish _– dress robes. It was all a mystery to Ginny, and since her best friend was Luna Lovegood, it wasn't like she could look to her for advice or anything. Her mother was too much a natural cheapskate to aid her in buying anything more high-end without making an embarrassing scene.

In the end, Ginny wandered discreetly into the recommended shops by herself and hoped that she would encounter a particularly helpful and understanding shop assistant before long. She didn't have any better ideas anyway, so that would have to do. And surprisingly enough, it did; just not quite exactly how she expected.

"You have _curves_, Weasley," Draco Malfoy said in a tone approaching awe. He had her half-undressed in a changing room and Ginny was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Um," Ginny said, inching towards the wall. "Aren't there any _girls_ who can do this?" She squeaked quietly when his hands nonchalantly palmed across her waist and felt her hips before they returned to doing something with a large bolt of fabric. He completely ignored her question, unless muttering a string of numbers and peering very intently at an area distressingly near her armpit counted as a reply.

Draco continued to near-molest an increasingly horrified Ginny Weasley for two hours; she only allowed it because for once it didn't seem like he realized _she_ was even there – he was just measuring and muttering, completely caught up in his fashion-designing delight to the point that he almost tried to usher her out onto the street half-dressed once the fitting was over, too eager to get to work.

At the door, he grasped her elbow and looked her in the eyes for the first time since she entered the shop.

"I am going to show everyone exactly how gorgeous you are," he promised, and for some reason Ginny, breath catching, actually believed him.


	41. Servants

**41. Servants **[400]

* * *

If there was any downside to dating Ginny Weasley, it would be her habit of throwing socks at the House-Elfs.

She explained it as a habit born of combining overheard stories of Harry Potter freeing Dobby with witnessed reactions to Hermione Granger's S.P.E.W. activities in the Gryffindor common-room. By Ginny's reasoning, her approach was far more straightforward and therefore less cruel. After all, she said, coquettishly tilting her head to the side, they could _see_ the socks coming, right? They had plenty of time to dodge if they didn't want freedom, and it wasn't like they'd accidentally stumble upon it when taking out the trash or something.

Draco was never quite sure exactly how serious Ginny was about freeing his House-Elfs, if at all, but he was starting to regret telling them to obey her. She would summon them all by name, line them up in front of the fireplace, and say, "All right, today's your lucky day!"

Then she'd start pelting all his favorite socks at them. They'd all disappear with a _crack!_ of course, starting off a lovely headache for Draco that would then be properly stoked upon the distinctive odor of yet another pair of his favorite silk socks lit on fire. Draco would no longer be able to focus on his work, and he'd have no socks to wear the next day, _and_ a headache.

And then Ginny would always say sorry and tilt her head coquettishly and give him scorching looks and offer to take him for replacement socks, and shopping would always last until dinnertime so they'd eat out, and then she'd be unwilling to make the long Floo home on a full stomach so she'd spend the night, and the next morning he'd have to wear her socks and hope no one noticed. And the House-elfs would burn her breakfast in revenge and pretend it was an accident, and she'd get that vengeful glint in her eye and he'd know the whole process would just repeat itself when he got home.

Perhaps most aggravating of all, _Ginny_ never ran out of socks. In fact, it was almost like she was sneakily moving her belongings in while he was at work with the help of the very House-Elfs she flung socks at, because she _never_ ran out and never seemed to go home anymore.

But… no, that was too ludicrous, even for Ginny.


	42. Roots

**42. Roots **[395]

* * *

There's nothing like it. You reach down, down, deep down within her very heart and soul and find the threads that hold her all together, and you rip them out by the roots, see her snapping before your eyes. She lets out this sort of strangled uncontrolled gasp, a purely physical reaction of shock and pain that's really quite pointless, as this is all in her mind anyway.

You grasp her struggling consciousness firmly in your hand and flicker rapidly through her memories – a sort of speed-reading, if you will. You're just searching for the relevant bits, the ones that your Lord will want to know, but when you come across something hot and hurting and desperate and all about _you_, it's impossible not to stop.

In this memory it's sunset, the sky red, the day still hot. The stones beneath her are cold. She's feeling humiliated and angry and just slightly desperate, and she's thinking with all her might _I hate you_. And underneath that she's clenching, doing that gasp again, and tugging at you because she doesn't want you to see this moment, doesn't want you to feel her wanting you so badly it aches.

You do, though, and in a way it changes everything and you drop that thread of thought like it's burning you, which it very well may be.

Scorched, shaken, you have to struggle to regain control; she's obviously received training at some point and your moment of distraction made it easier for her. She's not at your level in the end, however, and you quickly retrieve the information you need then slip out of her mind like hot wax, far too ready to be gone.

No time has really passed in the real world; perhaps about ten minutes or so. But it's more than enough to cause permanent damage to you both: Ginny's face goes slack because you were far too rough with her and snapped many important connections. You doubt she'll ever be the same.

As for you… mission completed, you leave. Your mind swirls with shock and hatred and that strange sort of desperation she felt towards you but never once showed, not even when it might have made all the difference.

The sun is rising as you make your escape, red on the horizon, and you think you really hate her for that.


	43. Too Easy

**43. Too Easy **[394]

* * *

It all started with the day Draco bumped into her in the hall and decided an insult would be in order. He immediately went for one of the Weasley usuals, only to hesitate. For some reason that seemed almost… _too_ easy. Predictable, even. He could do better than that, _surely_.

So, for perhaps the first time in his life, Draco stopped and actually looked at Ginny Weasley.

Only because he wanted to customize her insult, yes, but that didn't exactly work out because next thing he knew he was sort of blushing and she had already laughed and moved off since he'd stood there for ten seconds with his mouth open like an idiot. Draco pulled himself together and stalked off, but that was the start of a very, very disturbing trend. A trend in which Draco had issues looking head-on at Ginny without turning odd colors and yet spent a very large block of time doing just that. A trend in which Draco's ears pricked up at her name and he learned a surprising amount about her. A trend in which Draco still didn't really think up any insults, unless, "You're really quite good-looking," counted.

And oh, look, he'd said that out loud to her face. Ginny spluttered in response, and if Draco had fast enough reflexes he'd have made like he was joking and hightailed it out of there, but instead he just stood there dumbly while she made incoherent noises for a few minutes.

He wanted to slap himself.

"I do?" Ginny finally responded, looking very surprised and yet not really upset like she should be. Draco couldn't bring himself to mind, though he did honestly try.

"Yes." Draco nodded affirmatively and then she actually _smiled_ and he could tell he was turning funny colors but she was looking right _at_ him, and with a growl he spun on his heel and stalked off. He hoped that she would take the hint and pretend the whole encounter had not occurred.

Unfortunately, she smiled at him the very next day at breakfast, eyes bright, and Draco fumbled his grip on his pumpkin juice. It spilled all over Blaise's eggs and Draco heard a high, clear laugh from across the room.

When he glanced back up, unable to _not_, she looked gorgeous and Draco was somehow sure she would swallow him whole.


	44. Insane

**44. Insane **[400]

* * *

"Now, _we_ know you're not guilty," Ginny began. She looked very lawyerly, with glasses and everything. "But there's a lot of opposition in the courtroom and unfortunately we don't have much evidence in your favor. I think… it's time to consider a temporary insanity plea."

Draco jerked back at the blatant betrayal. "_No_."

Ginny sighed, already busily shuffling through her stack of files. They were pretty much unnecessary, but she claimed they helped her keep the right frame of mind. "Just think about it for a second – it's not as bad as it sounds."

With a deft flick of her wrist Ginny chose a file and opened it to reveal various law-related things Draco didn't want to look at. "There's good precedent," she said, pointing to a line of text that contained many numbers. "And the jail time is much shorter, Draco, _listen_ to me."

Draco continued to glare out the window. Ginny sighed again. "You're not a very cooperative employer, you know that?"

He turned to her, features dark. "I will not have the public _laugh_ at me," he said. "And besides… it didn't do any good for Aunt Bella."

Ginny blinked. "Wait, she pled insanity? Really?"

"Temporary insanity, yes."

"Oh, _temporary_," Relaxing back into what she'd always thought a lawyer-smile should look like, Ginny told Draco, "Well then it's obvious why it didn't help, isn't it?"

Draco made a sort of incoherent grumbling noise and turned up his nose. Ginny, still new to the lawyer game and to diva clients, finally broke character and smacked him on said upturned noise. "Oi," she whined, "You're not being helpful at all. The mock-trial's tomorrow."

Draco twitched his nose sorely. "Oh, so you think every defendant is just going to do exactly what you tell them? I thought you strove for _realism_."

"Yes, and _realistically_, most people would recognize logic and just listen to me!"

Draco did his thing that was like rolling his eyes, except too lazy to actually bother to roll them. "Whatever, Weasley. Are we done yet?"

"Fine," Ginny pouted, and flung her glasses onto the stack of folders. "Useless."

"Stupid way to spend a date, anyway," he groused, leaning over the table for a kiss, only to be blocked by a folder to the face.

"_Stop_ that."

"If I knew you were going to be so annoying," Draco exploded, "I'd _never_ have asked you out!"

"Yeah, yeah…"


	45. Clouds

**45. Clouds **[400]

* * *

Ginny Weasley liked to go cloud-watching on rainy days. She would watch the storm wash over the world and the torrents coming down, and she'd feel like she was underwater. And she would think, _tomorrow, maybe_.

But tomorrow the sun would come out and when she saw him he would be all dusty silver, neglected and out-of-place. He would be gorgeous and he would be soft and it would be all wrong and she would think _tomorrow, maybe_.

But tomorrow the clouds would gather again. And when she saw him it would be like waves crashing on rocks, because he'd tilt his head and flash his eyes and laugh with teeth. She would be awed and enticed and repulsed all at once. And clouds would gather again because it was never sunny for long at Hogwarts, and it would be then, with the sky darkening but not yet dark, thunder threatening but not yet here, that she would finally do something.

She would walk up to him and grab his wrist. And she would drag him outside and the threatening clouds would act then and with a peal of thunder the rain would start to fall on them.

And she would be golden and glorious and glinting, and he would be staring and silver and stunning in the dark under the rain-clouds, and she would kiss him and solder their lips together hard like rubies. And he wouldn't know what was happening – she wouldn't be sure either – but it would be magical and right and they would stay like that forever without words being necessary.

But tomorrow would come and wash away the clouds and the storm and everything they had with it. She would see him in the halls and they would both look away, feeling again the rain burnishing their skin and lightning sizzling overhead and their lips meeting. It would be a wonderful memory but not something soft and indoors, so they would both look away and go their separate ways and never mention it again.

And for days and days after she would watch the clouds and wait for just the right moment again, thinking constantly _tomorrow, maybe_.

And when that tomorrow finally came, she would step outside and there he would be, waiting and already drenched and she'd feel like only a diamond could cut another diamond, and she would fall in love.


	46. Challenge

**46. Challenge **[400]

* * *

It was common knowledge that no Weasley could resist a challenge – such common knowledge in fact that Draco felt no guilt exploiting it. He simply arranged to have a Ravenclaw girl tell Ginny, in a particularly snotty way, that she could never attract the attention of _Draco Malfoy_. It was easily seen through if Ginny had chosen to do so; but she didn't. She got red in the face (so Draco had been informed, anyway) and had accepted the unstated challenge, declaring to make Draco completely fall for her by the end of the month, at which point she would obviously dump him.

Delighted, Draco sketched out a rough schedule that should keep Ginny on her toes with unraveling the different sides of his personality that revealed themselves at various points. He stuck firmly to it, and had great fun confusing her and allowing himself to fall for her clumsy seduction (slowly and fighting all the while of course) until finally, the second-last day of the month, he took her aside in a hallway and confessed his feelings for her.

They'd been friends for several weeks at this point and Ginny went pale. Draco's heart twitched out of time, and he kissed her since she hadn't said no yet. She kissed back almost viciously, and when they were finally forced to pull away for some air, she admitted that she liked him too.

Then she kicked him in the knee (apparently "well, obviously" was not an acceptable response).

Draco went to bed that night still reliving the time he had spent with his fingers tangled in her hair and her lips overlapping his, right up until he was awoken at four in the morning by Ginny's owl nipping his nose.

It carried a note telling him to meet her in the kitchens. He did, and she fidgeted and became regretful and finally broke up with him over a cup of coffee. They'd been dating eight hours and Draco had expected nothing less.

"You're just too much of a _coward_ to openly date me, Gryffindor," he snarled. She went pink and flustered and finally said she'd prove she wasn't afraid of anyone and kissed him so hard his lips went numb.

They went back to their respective beds and Draco thought she'd probably catch on at some point – hopefully only after he'd already made her angry enough to marry him.


	47. Sight

**47. Sight **[400]

* * *

Just because he had lost an eye in the war did not mean Draco was leaping for the chance to get a new one. He had only respect for magical aids to the unfortunate, but he didn't exactly view the only person he'd ever known with a magical eye _fondly_.

Still, the salesperson was clearly aware that Draco was perhaps one of ten wizards on the earth who could actually afford to pay full price for the deluxe model, and was correspondingly determined to a frightening degree. He kept rambling on about warranties and being able to read a signboard from half a mile away. Draco couldn't imagine why he'd ever _need_ to read a signboard from half a mile away, but apparently the magical eye would do it.

It was interesting enough, at least to pass the time, but Draco quickly got bored and cut the salesman off with what he expected to be his winning shot. "I've got a girlfriend, you know," he said languidly. "I'd rather not have to pop it in and out in front of her – and even beyond _that_, the appearance of your… 'all-seeing eye' as you call it, is more than enough to turn my stomach."

This had no discernable effect, except to set the man off on an excited rant about how he could actually watch his stomach turning – "360-degree rotation and scan-through ability guaranteed!" – until Draco explained that he, like most sane people, would rather he never saw his internal organs.

This clearly stumped the salesperson for quite some time. Finally, with the air of a man left with no choice, he leaned forward conspiratorially, met Draco's… eye, and began to enumerate on the further uses of 360-degree rotation and scan-through ability. Not even Draco could help being slightly intrigued by the possibilities, though it never would have been enough to change his opinion,_honestly_.

Ginny happened to enter the room right as the salesman, looking as though he wished _he_ only had one eye, was waxing poetical about the filter abilities (anything could be filtered: stone, wood… clothing). Pandemonium predictably ensued, and somehow Draco's girlfriend managed to accomplish driving off the salesman in a mere two minutes. Left with no other victim, she turned snarling female fury on her mostly defenseless boyfriend.

Draco gulped, and tried to redirect the pain. "Uh, you realize Moody has that model?"


	48. Flowers

**48. Flowers **[374]

* * *

Draco probably had a classical education, the kind where the syllabus included sneering and snubbing and all that. Fine art, music… as much of a jerk as he is, there's a good chance he's very educated about these sorts of things. It's more likely than not that he speaks at least French, if not other languages too; in rich old pureblood families, all these sorts of 'signs of sophistication' are expected.

What Ginny isn't sure about, though, is if he knows the language of flowers. She can hardly picture him learning it from his mother as she did, out in the garden with dirt under their fingernails. The way Ginny learned wasn't sophisticated at all, even if it was a lot of fun. But at the same time… even if she can't understand _how_ he might know it, Ginny's got a horrible feeling that he does; that he's just not telling anyone. He is _exactly_ the sort of person who would surprise you by knowing flower language.

Which is why she's hesitating.

She's got choices – she could easily pick a buttercup or something else that has a perfectly innocuous meaning, or she could just not bring him one at all. But he is a friend in the hospital wing and she always brings her friends a flower to cheer them up, ever since she first learned flower language. None of them have ever realized that there is a meaning to whichever flower they get, though. Ginny hasn't had to worry they'd find out what she's really saying, and even if they did, it wouldn't be anything she minded them knowing.

But Draco… Ginny hesitates forever, almost too long. And when she finally gets brave, it's only halfway: she waits until he's asleep, and then tiptoes to set the flower on the bedside table. He'll still know it's her, of course – but this way she won't have to deal with his immediate reaction if he really _does_ speak flower.

His eyes open the moment she leaves the room, and when they land on the single yellow honeyflower, he smiles slow and wide. Two days later he gets out of the infirmary, and Ginny receives an envelope in the post, full of pressed ambrosia petals.

* * *

Honeyflower: secret love.

Ambrosia: love returned.


	49. More

**49. More **[392]

* * *

When asked, Draco replies that it's none of your business what I want, it's my life isn't it? Or sometimes he says that it's more than you could ever imagine so I'll just save your mind the strain. Or maybe he tells you that it's just what anyone would want, to be happy, and yes I know it's stupid.

(But no one asks that; they don't want to know his needs.)

When asked, Draco clarifies that he doesn't love Ginny Weasley, it's more one of those lusting, forbidden-fruit type things that are over in a month. Or he might respond that it's not love so much as curiosity. Or maybe if you're lucky he'll say it's none of your business but for your information I've never felt love but I just don't want this to stop.

(Or maybe you're Harry Potter and you don't ask so much as insult and he just stares at you for a long minute before walking out of the room.)

When asked, Draco informs you that your opinion doesn't matter to me, get out of my way. Or maybe he rebuts that you've clearly never asked _her_ that, since your nose is still straight. Or maybe he goes red and mutters it's none of your business and anyway NO, I'm not that crude thank you.

(And then he will storm off, though to most it will look like simply walking away.)

When asked, Draco claims that she approached me and believe me, it took convincing. Or maybe he asserts that honestly, I don't even remember. Or maybe he sighs and looks away and says that I asked her and asked her again and again until she said yes, and every time my throat locked up and I thought I was going to be sick.

(The problem is, there is no one he can admit the last one to, not even himself.)

When asked, Draco answers quite plainly: no. Or maybe he hedges and gets her to admit it first, then smugly adds his side in as if to make her feel better. Or maybe he looks her in the eye and tells her yes Ginny, more than anything.

(Or maybe it never even comes up because she understands him well enough not to have to ask, and maybe that's more important than any answer he might give.)


	50. Love

**50. Love **[395]

* * *

He has no idea what it is. Because he's never felt this way before and ninety-eight percent of the time he wants to rip out her throat with his bare hands – but it's that other two. In that other two he wants to take her hands in his and never let go, wants to put her in the stars so she'll always shine, wants to give her everything and more, to splay himself defenseless at her feet.

Ninety-eight percent of the time he has to grit his teeth not to snap back, until his jaw aches every night. Ninety-eight percent of the time he clenches his fists and walks with purposefully heavy steps and can't meet her eyes for fear of losing control – but that two percent, in that last two percent he wants to never look away. He wants to make her his life, wants to beg for whatever scraps she'll throw, wants to tell her all his secrets until his voice gives out.

He wants more than he can put words to or even conceive, just _wants_, and that's why he avoids her completely during that two percent. He hates the loss of power it brings, the turmoil and confusion, knows she will just use it against him and laugh. So he only lets her see the overwhelming majority, the way he absolutely _despises_ her and can barely hold in the urge to maim. He hides the remaining two percent so well and she responds so exactly in kind that he feels justified and even more vindictive (and while that two percent keens with something like despair, the other ninety-eight spits out a _told you so_).

He keeps the two percent of everything he doesn't understand or want locked away in a hidden vault, and he is completely confident she never even suspects its existence. He is equally confident that the hatred she aims his direction is true with not even a smidge, not even a measly two percent of anything else. She harbors no secrets from him, and everything in her is cold hatred no matter how her temper flares. And that's great, because while two percent of him roils and bubbles like lava ready to erupt, it's not nearly enough to melt the rest, which is cold like dry ice.

Two out of a hundred, after all, is pretty insignificant.


	51. Anent

**51. Anent **[400]

* * *

Her life _doesn't_ intersect with his, really, and that's when she realizes she's already caught in the riptide and miles from shore.

Everything Ginny does, from waking till she settles down to dream, comes back to Draco Malfoy. He is omnipresent; she can't get rid of him. Can't even claim she doesn't care, because it's all in her head anyway and she hasn't seen him in days. She _needs_ to see him, it's an ache deep in her gut, and she tries mostly unsuccessfully without meaning to. The fact that she has to try in the first place is more clue than she needs that something is very wrong.

It's not like Ginny cares about him; or at least, that's what she would have said a week ago, before they kissed and he disappeared and she realized exactly how much of it was simply him trying to be with her, because he is _never around anymore_.

It might be because she told him to get lost, but Ginny doesn't linger on that for long, too focused on the fact that she cares. And she misses him but not enough to give in. Not yet, not when he actually listened to her when she told him to get lost –

–and aren't the ramifications of that just wonderful? Ginny is floundering, she can't even see the beach anymore and she doesn't want to know if he means it or if she does or why his eyes were so intent and his grip on her wrist left bruises. She doesn't care that when she told him to get lost all of that dimmed and he swallowed, the sound of his throat working loud in the still air. She doesn't care about his lopsided smirk or the way he won't meet her eyes anymore or even what it means that she spends every chance she can make chasing his gaze.

Ginny is nowhere near ready to deal with any of that. All she knows is that it's unfair for him to be haunting her, and that's why she decides to visit him late at night, to grip his shoulders and kiss him and call him an idiot. It's why she ignores his sputtering intake of breath and smile that comes after, because she's found a life-boat and that's got to be enough for now, she can worry about finding solid land later.


	52. Corner

**52. Corner **[400]

* * *

When Draco was little, he liked to imagine the world was not round so much as flat. He knew better, of course – it was just his imagination, something he dreamed up because even at age seven he knew it was strategically unwise to leave your back wide open to the enemy. If the world was round there was no way to avoid doing just that, but if it was flat and square, like maps, then he could just pick a corner and sit down all cozy and that would be his. No one would be able to touch him, because Draco would have his back to the wall and his eyes open, and his corner of the world would be a wonderful kingdom all his own.

He's seventeen now, really too old to be playing these sorts of games. But if he doesn't, then he's going to have to admit that he's completely vulnerable on all sides, and while he's standing here with Ginny Weasley, any one of his enemies could sneak up behind him and stab him in the back. Any one of her friends, and she could smile over his shoulder at them while he fell.

That cannot happen. Draco will not allow that, so he regresses ten years and tells her he loves her. He takes her hand and leads her there, ignoring the way she tries to squirm out of his grip.

In this case the wall is made of lies laid on brick by brick and it's hot behind his back, humming like someone's trying to bore through. The world in front of his eyes is covered in dust and still shaking from the bombs of dark magic, and he's pressed as far back as he can go. In sharp contrast to the wall where the world ends, Ginny is cold and shivering in his arms, and he has to soothe her with quiet whispers of _it'll be okay_ and _they can't get us here_.

He's got one hand curled tight around his wand, ready to defend them if anyone dares to come close. Draco knows this will be over eventually; he's just got to outlast it and then he can steal the broken pieces of everyone else to build his kingdom. He's never wanted much. It will be fine here, just a little corner with a king and queen, fine just like that.


	53. Guilt

**53. Guilt [400]

* * *

**

She knew she she'd done nothing wrong. Just because Draco somehow felt something for her didn't mean she had to return those feelings. Perhaps she ought to have acknowledged them sooner, but no one could blame Ginny for not believing Draco at first. He'd never shown a hint of affection towards her until his abrupt confession.

It wasn't _wrong_ of her to start dating Harry the very next day. She'd thought Draco had been lying, trying to trick her into doing something stupid. Such an action was far more in-character for him than what he'd actually done.

But as the weeks went by and things with Harry only got worse, Ginny found her mind drifting back more and more to Draco, to the look in his eyes when he'd made that unexpected revelation: somehow already defeated, but determined nonetheless, and such a strange shade of grey she didn't think she'd ever seen before.

Her actions _were not_ wrong, not deliberately at least. Ginny had been depressed and lonely and feeling so wronged and unloved, and then along he had come. Draco, with his usual smirk, and all of a sudden she'd needed to see that look in his eyes once more. So she'd kissed him, and he'd gone from smug to uncomfortably vulnerable _so_ quickly, and – she hadn't _known_.

How could he have meant it when he said he loved her? She'd thought it _impossible_, until that kiss, and when she'd realized what she was doing she reacted fast enough. She had not kept on kissing him. She had even apologized, told him she still loved Harry and was just confused, though the utter lack of surprise on his face was worse than even total devastation would have been.

Ginny's conduct had been stellar, considering how little she had understood at the time, and she'd even admitted the kiss to Harry (though not who it was with). It had been the impetus they needed to fix their near-broken relationship.

She'd just wanted to feel loved, and had _stupidly_ gotten that, and now the awareness wouldn't go away and she always felt it like a weight in her ribcage dragging her down. For although Draco never changed his behaviour in the slightest, Ginny knew now how he would let her use him; and the fact that she hadn't done anything wrong was little consolation.

Because she so _wanted_ to.


	54. Prisoner

**54. Prisoner [399]**

**

* * *

**

They're all curious when they learn that the Order is holding a Death Eater prisoner in Grimmauld Place. But of course none of their attempts to find out who it is succeed. It's sheer luck that Ginny is in the bathroom one day and comes out right when Tonks is bringing the prisoner lunch.

He's got two black eyes and one arm is in a cast. He looks tired and weak and his free arm is shackled to the bed, so that Tonks has to spoon-feed him his soup, and he winces when she bangs the spoon against his teeth. He is hideously familiar and Ginny can't help but gasp at the sight of Draco Malfoy so destroyed.

Tonks catches her in the hall and swears her to secrecy, and shrugs uncomfortably when refusing to answer Ginny's questions. Frustrated, Ginny takes to sitting in the hallway outside Draco's room (– cell?), drumming her bare feet on the floor.

She wonders: what's going to happen when the school year starts. Whether his parents miss him or know where he is. If he really is loyal to You-Know-Who, and what has _happened_ to break him so completely.

Ginny gets scolded several times for hanging around the dangerous prisoner's room, but now she watches for it and catches the uncomfortable expression on the adults' faces when they say this. Her Mum in particular looks like she hates the words coming out of her mouth, and that alone is enough for Ginny to quietly confide that she _knows_.

Though initially outraged, Molly soon breaks down into sniffles for 'that poor boy' and actually sends Ginny in the next morning with a bowl of porridge.

"Don't try to make him talk," she warns, "and don't expect him to eat much. Maybe… maybe seeing someone his own age will do him a little good."

It's been over a week but Draco doesn't look any better. Ginny has to wonder if the Order has even _tried_ to heal him. Then she meets his emotionless eyes and is shocked by how _little _is there – maybe healing him just wasn't _possible_.

She's still almost entirely in the dark and not at all certain she'll like what's going on if she ever finds out. But Draco's blank like a marionette with its strings cut – and somehow that's more than enough for Ginny to vow she'll fix him.


	55. Craft

**55. Craft [400]**

**

* * *

**

If there's one thing Draco is terrible at, it's making others think well of him. He can force them to do what he wants and he can even make them need him, but he has never been able to get people to like him. Toleration, at best, is what he hopes for.

Though it's not like he's ever tried too hard. Draco has never really cared if people liked him, so long as he got what he wanted out of his relationships: namely, material or status gains. The general population knows how valuable he is, if not exactly lovable; they readily take part in the charade, smiling as though delighted to see him when all they really want is to punch him in the face most of the time. That's always been fine with Draco. He's never claimed to have a pleasant personality, but it would be too much bother to try and change himself.

Ginny Weasley, on the other hand, is a sneaky, manipulative hellspawn. She's not ambitious enough to have been sorted into Slytherin, but she's got double the required share of cunning, and is perfectly willing to put it to use. Draco and the painfully blunt way he wields his status and money can never be a match for her. While he's the salesman that bangs on the door until you buy something just to make him go away, Ginny is the girl down the street who babysits for you and waters your flowers and who you're more than willing to offer financial loans and to recommend to everyone you know. Draco uses what he has to maintain his current status; Ginny sneaks through life on nothing but charm and a sharp mind, and ends up with far more than she had originally.

Ginny has never failed to make a friend and her allies are everywhere, her technique impeccable. Draco's brutish businesslike relationships that work so well with the rest of the world mean nothing in Ginny's presence, and so it's not really his fault at all that he is going to be so completely defeated.

Ginny is going to use all of her wile and wit, and Draco is going to tumble right into her trap without realizing, and he's going to change himself as much as she deems necessary – all for her to like him back.

They _will_ become friends. Period.

Ginny has spoken.


End file.
